


If at First You Don't Succeed

by SidandGenoIncognito



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Kink Exploration, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidandGenoIncognito/pseuds/SidandGenoIncognito
Summary: It’s something that Sid read about, because of course it is. He’d sprung the idea on Zhenya less than a month ago over Skype, late morning for Sid in Nova Scotia and early evening for Zhenya in Moscow. One minute Sid had been telling him about a fish he had caught or a fish he hadn’t caught — Zhenya can barely remember, because the next he was asking Zhenya, “Have you ever had multiple orgasms?”
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 27
Kudos: 236





	If at First You Don't Succeed

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings for one brief instance of cissexist language, swearing, and references to handjobs, blowjobs, masturbation, and anal sex.

The first time they try it, Zhenya comes all over himself, which seems like it should be a good thing. Sid’s frown tells him that it isn’t.

*

It’s something that Sid read about, because of course it is. He’d sprung the idea on Zhenya less than a month ago over Skype, late morning for Sid in Nova Scotia and early evening for Zhenya in Moscow. One minute Sid had been telling him about a fish he had caught or a fish he hadn’t caught — Zhenya can barely remember, because the next he was asking Zhenya, “Have you ever had multiple orgasms?”

After Zhenya had retrieved the fork he’d dropped, he’d ventured, cautiously, “Usually is thing for woman, not man, right?”

“Nope, guys can too,” Sid had replied, his voice light like he was completely unconcerned about the whiplash he’d just given Zhenya. “I was reading about it. I guess it can happen if you massage your prostate? And I know you like that, so I was just wondering.”

“No, I never do,” Zhenya had said.

And then, because he’s as weak as a kitten when it comes to Sid and sex, he’d found himself agreeing to try it.

*

According to Sid, for the multiple-orgasm thing to happen, he just has to finger Zhenya for a really, really long time. Zhenya certainly doesn’t have any qualms about that, not at face value, so when they’re finally back in Pittsburgh — and better yet, back in bed together — he reconfirms his willingness to give it a shot. (Not in so many words. It’s more of an enthusiastic _fuck yes_.) Which leads them to now: Zhenya flopped out and panting with Sid still knuckle-deep in his ass, which had felt so good that Zhenya had blown his load the first time he came and fucked up the chance of doing it again.

Initially, Zhenya doesn’t really care, because he just had one of the most intense orgasms of his life, so whatever. But then he opens his eyes and sees Sid’s face, and it brings him back to earth pretty quickly. Vague disappointment isn’t exactly what Zhenya wants to see on someone’s face after he’s just had sex with them. Well, or when they’re in the middle of it, which they still might be. Sid hasn’t gotten off yet.

Maybe that’s the problem. “You want I do for you?” Zhenya asks, lazily miming a handjob. “Just give me minute.”

Sid skims right past that. “I thought I’d be able to make you come more than once,” he grouses.

Zhenya snorts. “Sid, who _cares_. I come so hard, if there’s more than one, I die.” That appears to mollify Sid — at least somewhat — and Zhenya raises one arm toward where Sid is still crouched between his spread legs. He makes a grabby-hand motion and adds, “Come down here and I jerk you off. Or sit on my face, if you want.”

“You’re not even going to move, eh?” Sid shoots him a look that’s part exasperated, part amused.

“Your fault,” Zhenya points out. He intensifies his grabby hands.

“Okay, okay,” Sid grumbles, like he isn’t already rearranging himself to lie down right next to Zhenya’s body.

Zhenya pulls him into a kiss as he wraps a hand around the hard length of Sid’s cock and makes good on his offer.

*

Sid doesn’t give up on it, though.

Zhenya ends up at his house a few days later. There are a few invitations floating around, to restaurants and bars and barbecues, but it’s easy enough for Sid and Zhenya to beg off. No one really questions it, although Zhenya’s cover might be blown if his car is spotted in Sid’s driveway. Oh well, he’ll fib his way out of that too, if anyone brings it up.

It’s a nice day, so Sid grills some steak and vegetables. They eat outside, soaking up the late afternoon sun and talking prospects for the upcoming season. It’s nice that they can still do this — in addition to all the fucking, that is — and Zhenya’s enjoying it well enough on his own, but then he stretches his legs out in front of him and notices Sid tracking the motion with interest. He quirks an eyebrow at Sid and asks, “You ready for go in?” and Sid grins and says, “Yeah, okay,” and that’s that.

Sid’s bed is big and sturdy and comfortable, and before long, they’re naked on top of the sheets with the comforter kicked out of the way, raising the pink in each other’s skin with hands and lips. It feels good and hot and secret, sweating away together in Sid’s room, just the two of them in the whole house and the whole world who know what’s happening. Zhenya’s into it — definitely very into it — and he’s just about to ask Sid to _fuck him already_ when Sid puts his mouth next to Zhenya’s ear and asks, between damp, rough breaths, “Can I try again? To get you off more than once? We’ve got some time.”

Zhenya groans, a sound that’s more than partly borne of frustration. They’ve spent an entire summer apart, and the season will be here before they know it, so _of course_ Zhenya wants to pack in as much sex as possible. He wants to do every single thing he’s been thinking about and missing and imagining while he’s alone in his bed. This just — isn’t one of those things.

Sid misinterprets his reaction, and he nestles impossibly closer to Zhenya’s body, sliding one hand around to cup Zhenya’s ass, sliding his fingertips into the crack of it. “Yeah?”

He sounds so stupidly hopeful that Zhenya doesn’t have any choice but to give in. But he does huff a little when he says, “Yes, yes, okay, Sid. Do it.”

And that’s how he ends up on his stomach, with his arms wrapped around one pillow and another shoved under his hips, while Sid kneels on the bed behind him. It’s certainly not their first time in this position, but something about the whole situation makes it feel — clinical. Impersonal. Like they’re just doing some kind of experiment. Sid’s barely touching him, for fuck’s sake.

It helps some when Sid has his fingers lubed up, and he sidles in to bring them to bear on on Zhenya’s hole. He rubs circles there to start, gentle but with intent, and that’s good. So is his warm grip on Zhenya’s flank, the gentle pressure of his free hand pulling Zhenya open, just a little. Zhenya squirms his hips out wider and tries to wriggle back to get Sid inside. Sid makes a noise, somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “You’re gonna have to be a lot more patient than that.”

Zhenya should never have agreed to this.

“So _start_ , if you’re going to do for so long,” he suggests, and he knows he sounds peevish when he does. “Just go in.”

“If you want,” Sid says, like he’s doing Zhenya some huge favor — which he is, Zhenya has to admit. But he doesn’t have to sound so smug about it.

He breaches Zhenya with just the tip of one finger at first, pressing deeper in tiny, careful increments. The soft undulations are pleasurable against Zhenya’s rim, stoking the simmering heat in his stomach, but otherwise it’s a _tease_. It’s torture, because all he wants is more. Nothing about it makes Zhenya want to wait at all; instead, he wishes Sid would just stick three fingers straight in.

“ _Sid_ ,” he whines. He’s pretty sure that begging won’t get him anywhere, but it’s worth a try. “Faster.”

With a chuff of breath, Sid mutters, “Okay, okay,” and slides the first finger home in one slow, steady glide. Zhenya grunts his approval, then screws his hips shallowly into the pillow as Sid pulls it back out, twisting and wiggling as he goes.

“Now two,” Zhenya orders, arching his back to put himself even more on display.

“Are you ready for that?” Sid asks doubtfully, sliding back into him, but only with the same single finger, which is fine, but could be so much better.

Fervently, Zhenya replies, “Most ready, Sid,” which obviously isn’t true, but at least it gets Sid to pick up the pace.

He doesn’t rush it, but before too long, he’s methodically pumping Zhenya’s hole with two fingers, and Zhenya is absently rocking into the pillow to relieve some of the pressure on his cock, which is hard and straining. Sid stills him with a firm hand on Zhenya’s hip, pressing him down. “G, come on,” he admonishes.

“Yes, okay,” Zhenya says. He flaps one hand. “Do your thing.”

Sid presses into him again, but this time he doesn’t retreat right away. Instead, he feels around with the pads of his fingertips, and when they brush over the right place, Zhenya jolts and hisses. “There?” Sid asks, as if it isn’t abundantly clear.

“There,” Zhenya confirms.

“Yeah,” Sid says, rubbing into the spot. “I feel it.”

He definitely feels it, and pulses his fingers against it, and rolls the tips of his fingers around it, and does any number of similar things. And the problem isn’t that it doesn’t feel good; no, the problem is that it feels way, way too good. Zhenya is frozen against the mattress, except for where the muscles in his ass and belly are twitching, and he’s trying _so hard_ not to just rut off against the pillow — or worse yet, worm his hand in under his body — but if Sid expects him to hold out from doing either of those things for very much longer, he’s out of his mind.

Sid very unhelpfully chooses that moment to ask, “Feels good?”

To which Zhenya eloquently replies, “Fuck.”

Sid rhythmically presses his fingertips against Zhenya’s prostate again, and that is _it_. Zhenya can’t hang on, and he doesn’t even know how he could, not when Sid is doing _that_. In a flurry of motion, Zhenya spits into his hand and works it in between the pillow and his cock, then charges headfirst into a glorious orgasm. Sid, after a startled pause, finger-fucks him through it.

He’s quiet as Zhenya finishes up and goes limp against the mattress. He’s quiet as he carefully withdraws himself from Zhenya’s body. He’s quiet as he wipes his hand on the sheets next to Zhenya’s hip. Zhenya doesn’t think too much of it at first, because he’s pretty sure his brain just exited his body via his dick. He should probably do something for Sid — he _wants_ to do something for Sid — and he will, just as soon as he can move.

When Sid does finally speak, what he says is, “Thanks for ruining my pillow, man.” He sounds like he’s trying to pass it off as a joke, but he can’t hide all the sour notes in his voice. Not from Zhenya, anyway.

Zhenya flips his head to the side and cracks an eye to look at him. “You can afford new one.”

“That’s not the point,” Sid grumbles.

His expression is pinched, and it makes Zhenya turn all the way over to face him more fully. “You’re pissed.”

“I’m not pissed,” Sid protests, which is an obvious lie.

“Tell your face,” Zhenya retorts, because he just can’t help himself.

It only makes Sid scowl harder. “What?”

“Tell your face you not pissed,” Zhenya explains, “because it looks pissed. You _sound_ pissed.”

Sid sits back, glaring at his hand as he wipes it on his sheets more vigorously. “I just wanted to _try something_ , Geno. Fuck. If you didn’t want to, you could have just told me. You didn’t have to — you didn’t have to —”

“What?” Zhenya challenges him as his voice trails away. “To get off? Feel good? That’s not what you want?”

“Come on, you know that’s not what I mean,” Sid says, with an eye roll so heavy that Zhenya wonders if he could use a spotter.

Zhenya gathers himself enough to sit up and yank the edge of the sheet haphazardly across his lap. If they’re going to fight, Zhenya doesn’t want to do it with his dick out.

The thought brings him up short. They’re fighting. They’re having a fight.

They don’t — they don’t _do_ this. Ever since they’d fallen into bed last year, they’ve been spending more time together. Sometimes they fuck, and it’s good, and that’s it. They don’t analyze it. They don’t talk about it. They don’t think about it, or at least Zhenya doesn’t, because then he would have to acknowledge the creeping fondness he feels toward Sid pretty much all the time, like weeds displacing a well-manicured lawn or ivy climbing over a wall until all that’s left is something wild and all but impossible to beat back.

They don’t _get mad_ because one of them isn’t having the right kind of orgasms.

“Why the fuck you care so much?” Zhenya grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. “So I come once, so I come twenty times, why it _matter_?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sid spits back.

“Then what makes you so pissy?” Zhenya retorts. He fixes Sid with a glare, but Sid isn’t looking back. “You afraid you not good at sex? Fine, is not true. You’re good at it, Sid. Happy?”

Sid’s mouth pulls down mulishly, and he keeps his gaze trained on his knees. He, apparently, is not averse to fighting in the nude and his cock is going soft against his thigh. “It’s not — it’s not that,” he finally says, and some of the fight has gone out of his voice. He scrunches up his face as soon as the words are out and adds, “Not that I think I’m some kind of — I don’t know, Don Juan or something. I mean, I think I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s good with you, really good.” He makes a frustrated noise and flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s not that.”

Zhenya watches all of this with fascination. When he speaks again, he manages to take the edge off his tone. “So is something.”

Sid purses his lips and gives a twitchy shrug of his shoulders.

And Zhenya doesn’t know what to do with that, but as much as he wants to flounce resolutely out of the bed, out of the room, out of the house — he knows that could very well be the end of it. He’s certainly too stubborn to bring it up again, and maybe if Sid doesn’t want to talk about it now, he won’t want to talk about it ever. Zhenya knows that hockey is too important to both of them for it to change anything about the way they interact on the ice, but he also knows that they don’t have to run in the same circles off of it. They don’t even do that _now_.

It’s the sex that would stop. And the secret looks and smiles they share sometimes. The sexting, the dumb-everyday-texting, the Skyping, the extra meals they’ve been grabbing or cobbling together out of one of their fridges after lazy afternoons at one another’s homes. And Zhenya wants to keep doing all of that. In his heart of hearts, he wants to keep doing all of that for a long time. He’s suddenly aching for it, and it isn’t even gone yet. Or maybe it is.

The other alternative, though, is to push Sid to say whatever’s on his mind. That doesn’t seem like a good idea either, because Sid might kick him out — so the end result would be the same, but it would cut much deeper. It’s probably better for Zhenya to make the decision on his own. “I think I go,” he mumbles, and looks down at himself with a sigh. He’s going to have to drive home with his own come drying on his stomach, but he’s not about to make a mid-flounce pit stop to wash it off.

Zhenya starts to swing his legs off the bed, but he freezes when Sid touches his wrist and says, “No, don’t.”

“What, Sid?” he asks, cautious and weary. He steels himself, fully prepared to hear Sid say something like _just forget about it_ , and fully prepared to give in and do just that, even if it would mean he’d end up disappointed in them both.

“I just want it to be really good for you,” Sid blurts, and he sounds frustrated again.

Zhenya draws his eyebrows together. “Is always good with you. Really good. You just say.”

“I know.” Sid blows out a breath and pins Zhenya with his gaze. “But I want it to be, like. _Really_ good. I want it to be the best sex you’ve ever had, because I really like you, G. I really like you,” he repeats, quieter.

“Oh,” Zhenya says, because _oh_. His heart stutters, like it doesn’t know whether to race or settle.

Sid waits for a beat, then — when Zhenya doesn’t offer anything else — he shifts to lay back on his own side of the bed. “So, um… you can still go, if you want. I just thought you should know that.”

“ _Go_?” Zhenya repeats incredulously. “You tell me you’re in love and you think I go?”

It’s gratifying how quickly the accusation brings a flush to Sid’s cheeks. “I didn’t say that! I mean, not that I… I don’t know. But I didn’t say that.”

Zhenya shrugs and says, “Maybe, maybe not.” His own emotions are as big and messy as ever, and since Sid can admit things to him, he might as well admit it to himself: if the thunderous riot in his chest isn’t something adjacent to love, then he doesn’t know what is. It’s okay if neither of them wants to say it yet. He scoots across the mattress and, at Sid’s hopeful look, snugs in close to his side and drapes an arm unceremoniously over his stomach.

Sid extracts his own arm to curl it across Zhenya’s shoulders. “So, you don’t seem very freaked out by this.”

“Why freak out?” Zhenya asks, his face mashed into Sid’s pectoral. It’s easier to say things there, so he continues, “I feel same.”

“Oh. Well, good,” Sid says, ever the poet. “And there are plenty of reasons to freak out. Because we’re teammates? Because it’s going to be weird? And we don’t want anyone else to find out?”

“Easier if we be honest together,” Zhenya points out.

He can almost feel Sid’s smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s true.”

Zhenya knows it’s going to be much, much more complicated than that, but in that moment, he’s overwhelmed by a raucous joy that crowds everything else out, all the worry and fear and trepidation. There will be bad shit for sure, of that Zhenya is certain — really bad, challenging shit. But here in Sid’s bed, in his loose embrace, smelling the musk and salt of his skin, Zhenya has an overabundance of confidence that they’ll be able to work through all of it together.

Which means that they should probably deal with the thing that led them to this point. Zhenya’s already half-asleep, but he blinks his eyes open and mumbles, “Sid?”

“Yeah?”

“If you want try again, you finger me as long as you want. Don’t _have_ to try again, if you don’t want, but I think it’s important for you. I try harder next time.” After all, having Sid finger him for three days straight — or however long, Sid’s very goal-oriented — isn’t the worst way to work through a problem.

Sid’s hand clenches briefly on Zhenya’s shoulder, then trails lightly up and down his bicep. “It’s important to me because I thought it would be something you’d like, because, you know. You really like getting fucked.”

“Mmm, I really do,” Zhenya agrees, nuzzling against Sid’s body. More than Sid does, or at least he asks for it more often than Sid does. Zhenya certainly can’t get hard again, but just the thought of it — of Sid hard and thick and moving inside him — makes the heat flare up again in the pit of his stomach.

Sid chuckles. “I know.”

“Especially by you,” Zhenya adds.

“Good, because I like fucking you,” Sid says, matter-of-fact. “And we can just do that, next time. It doesn’t matter if we try the other thing again. I only want to do it if you want to do it.”

Zhenya considers that. The idea of multiple orgasms isn’t exactly a bad one, and Sid’s attempts at prostate massage had been more than a little enjoyable. In truth, Zhenya hadn’t been putting much effort into actually trying not to blow his load as soon as possible. He pushes himself up, dislodging Sid’s arm and struggling to prop himself on his elbow. “Okay,” he decides, leaning down to peck Sid on the mouth. “We try one more time.”

*

They do it at Sid’s house again. At first, Zhenya thinks that they should use his place so that he’s at his most comfortable, but when he considers it, he realizes that he really wants to go to Sid’s. He _likes_ going to Sid’s house, likes that Sid invites him in. He likes Sid’s bed and his wide mattress, the perfect ratio of firm and soft. And if Zhenya has to content himself with getting fingered for some indeterminate amount of time, he might as well do it cuddled up in sheets and pillows that smell like Sid. It’s a sappy thought, but now that there’s been talk about _feelings_ , Zhenya’s going to be oozing sap for a good few months.

At first, everything is the same as it always is — they eat and they chat. Zhenya hovers around Sid while he cooks, filching bites of food until Sid puts him to work. They eat at the table because it’s raining outside, and as soon as they sit down, Sid sticks his leg out to press his bare ankle against Zhenya’s. He leaves it there for the whole meal, so maybe not _everything_ is the same.

When they get to bed, it’s different right away. They make out for a long time, like that’s all they’re going to do. It’s passionate but not frantic, missing that desperate, uncertain edge that’s been there every other time they’ve had sex. Zhenya rolls Sid on top over and over again until he stays there, weighing Zhenya down into the mattress. Then Sid takes off Zhenya’s clothes and shoves a pillow under his hips, but he keeps Zhenya on his back, so that’s different, at least from the last time. Zhenya likes it. He can look up at Sid like this, see his earnest flushed face and his dark, determined eyes. It’s a simple thing, but it’s so much better.

Zhenya splays his knees out wide and puts one of his feet up on Sid’s bare thigh. He’s still in his underwear, for reasons Zhenya can’t even begin to fathom, but that’s okay. They’re tight, and Sid’s erection looks obscene trapped inside of them, a fact that Zhenya admires unabashedly while Sid lubes up his fingers.

“See something you like?” Sid asks, grinning like he’s so clever.

“Yeah,” Zhenya says, “nice underwear. Where you buy?”

“I don’t remember. Maybe you can check the tag later.”

Zhenya snorts. “Maybe I tell how underwear shouldn’t have tag. Make you itch.”

Sid rolls his eyes and wraps his dry hand around Zhenya’s ankle. “Maybe I meant you can take them off.”

“Now?” Zhenya suggests, giving Sid as suggestive a look as he can manage. It involves eyebrow waggling.

“Later,” Sid repeats, laughing. Then he brings his slippery fingers to Zhenya’s hole and starts tracing careful circles there.

Zhenya makes an appreciative noise and drops his knees open further. “Yes, okay, I can wait.”

Sid gives him a skeptical look, which — if Zhenya’s being honest — he probably deserves. “Can you?”

“I guess we find out.”

With that, Zhenya settles in for the long haul. It feels almost like a challenge now, and that helps, because if Zhenya can harness his stubbornness and apply it to this, well, then they might be in business. He chases that feeling where it goes: if Sid doesn’t think he can do this? He is absolutely going to fucking do it.

So Zhenya doesn’t try to urge or goad Sid into going any faster than he already is. He relaxes back into the mattress as Sid massages his hole and his taint, and even gives a few gentle tugs and squeezes to his balls. He doesn’t touch Zhenya’s cock, which is more than interested in the proceedings. Instead, his free hand is hot on Zhenya’s thigh, on his hip. It’s not bad at all. Zhenya would even go so far as to say he’s enjoying it. And he does, when Sid asks how he’s doing.

Zhenya, who had been drifting a bit, zeros back in on Sid’s face to find that Sid is watching him intently, with maybe a tinge of worry. “Feels good, Sid,” Zhenya assures him. “Keep going.”

“You’re not bored?” Sid asks, his lips twisting wryly into something that’s like a smile, but isn’t quite.

“Sid, hush, I’m relax. Do what you want. I say if something’s wrong.”

“Okay,” Sid says. He doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but he drops his gaze back down to where his hand is working between Zhenya’s legs, seemingly content to put the conversation to rest.

Zhenya settles in again and lets his eyes drift shut. Without anything to look at, he finds himself even more attuned to Sid’s gentle, focused ministrations. As he sinks into the sensation of it all, he starts to believe that this can be something unto itself, and not just a means to an end. He’s surprised to learn that he can almost ignore his cock, and the urgency of his erection fades to a background hum.

Because he’s so absorbed in what Sid is doing, Zhenya feels it keenly when the pressure of Sid’s fingers increases against his hole, which is loosening to the touch. Zhenya lets out a pleased hum, and Sid says, “Yeah?”

This time, when he looks at Sid, Zhenya finds him wearing an expression of fondness that warms his chest like bread rising in an oven. “Yeah,” he replies, smiling back, probably in embarrassing fashion. Sid’s face goes a little pinker, and he finally breaches Zhenya’s body, pushing in with one finger.

Not all the way, though. He still keeps things slow, teasing around Zhenya’s rim, both inside and outside. Zhenya’s cock throbs back to his attention, and Zhenya gives a twitch and a grunt, but he fists his hands in the bedsheets and keeps them at his sides.

“Oh yeah, that’s good,” Sid breathes, which gives Zheyna a thrill that he wasn’t expecting. He works in farther, obviously starting to feel around, and Zhenya tracks the quick rise and fall of his chest, like he’s the one being touched.

Well, that’s what he does until Sid brushes over his prostate. Then Zhenya has to squeeze his eyes briefly shut as he hisses, and he doesn’t know what Sid looks like when he says, “Okay,” his voice roughening over the word. He rubs the spot briefly. Then he pulls his fingers out.

“Hey!” Zhenya exclaims, yanking his head off the pillow to gape at Sid.

He’s uncapping the lube again, and he gives Zhenya a look of amused exasperation. “You think that was it or something? I’m coming back.”

“Supposed to be finger for hours,” Zhenya grumbles as he settles back down, “not touch once, go away.”

Sid laughs and drops his clean hand onto Zhenya’s knee, squeezing there. “Hey. We’ve got time.”

They do.

Zhenya feels himself softening as their gazes catch and hold. “Yes,” he agrees. And then, because he just can’t help himself, he wiggles his ass as much as he can in this position and adds, “So start.”

“I can do that,” Sid says. He probes gently around Zhenya’s rim, and when he apparently finds it to his linking, slides in, slow and steady, with two fingers instead of one.

It’s even better, the slight stretch of it. “ _Yes_ ,” Zhenya groans. “Good. Is good, Sid.” His reaction makes Sid’s flushed face go pleased, maybe even a little smug. Zhenya would probably have something to say about that, but Sid’s fingertips are _there_ again, which leaves Zhenya disinclined to make a comment.

Sid is definitely taking his time now, even more so than before, massaging over Zhenya’s prostate again and again with small, measured, pulsing strokes. Zhenya luxuriates in the sensation, the familiar blend of _this-feels-really-weird-and-good_ and _do-I-have-to-pee_. His cock stays mostly-hard, continuously beading precome as the muscles in his abdomen start to tighten and twitch. It’s becoming more of a challenge not to just take himself in hand; Zhenya can imagine just how easy it would be to get from here to there, but he grabs tight fistfuls of Sid’s sheets and squirms on Sid’s fingers and grits his teeth instead. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s making noises, until Sid says, “You sound…” and Zhenya pushes out what’s left of the whine in his throat on an inquisitive grunt.

When Sid doesn’t add anything else, Zhenya asks, “Like what, Sid?”

“Like I’m torturing you,” Sid finally finishes, his voice quiet.

“Don’t stop,” Zhenya says — orders, really. His whole belly is warm, and the heat and the tremors are slowly bleeding outward from there, until his thighs are shaking, his shoulders, even his hands. He feels full; he feels like he’s burning. His breaths are so harsh and ragged that he barely hears it when Sid whispers, “G, are you going to —”

“Shut up,” he snaps. “Keep going.”

Sid does, and Zhenya comes.

It’s something Zhenya has done many (many) times before, both with other people and by himself. It’s never been exactly like this.

The orgasm is intense and overwhelming, rolling up and bursting out from somewhere deep inside of him, sending shock waves through his entire body. And then it keeps going, holding Zhenya in its grasp long past the point where his cock would have given up. He shakes and gasps and curses, and every second of it is so good that it’s almost too much.

When Zhenya finally goes limp against the mattress, he finds Sid watching him with wide eyes. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Was that — did you like it?”

Zhenya is still trembling faintly, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to laugh, so he lets out a huff instead. “Did I _like_?”

“Okay, dumb question,” Sid says. He’s been dislodged a little by Zhenya’s writhing, but he’s still got his fingers partway inside, and he starts circling them gently. “Can you go again?”

Zhenya looks down his body at his cock and blinks. It’s still stiff and flushed, and there are smears of precome all over his belly. “Try and see,” he suggests.

Sid dips to kiss his knee and presses back inside, finding the right spot again and repeating his attentions to it. Zhenya shudders a little at the contact, and Sid pauses, but Zhenya is quick to assure him. “I’m fine,” he says, rocking into Sid’s touch. “Go.”

He’s surprised to find that he really is fine. Zhenya had expected it to feel shockingly unpleasant, the way a touch feels on a spent and oversensitive dick, but it’s not like that at all. Instead, it’s just as good as before, except that Zhenya’s already worked up so things happen a lot faster. The ascent up to his first orgasm had been long, like the first suspenseful, ticking climb on a roller coaster, one that had dropped him unceremoniously into freefall. The second one is the loop-the-loop that follows; he’s still on the same ride, and it’s making his stomach swoop again.

Zhenya comes, another shaking, lengthy, from-the-root-of-his-spine affair that leaves him twisting against Sid’s hand while his cock drips and drips down onto his stomach. When it’s over, Zhenya’s panting, but he manages to demand, or maybe beg, “More, Sid. Can go more.”

Because now he wants to know: if he can do two, can he do three? Can he do five? Can he do _a hundred_? If he can keep going, what would ever make him want to stop? He supposes someone from the team would come looking for them eventually. He’ll need to eat. All of it seems secondary right now.

So he lets Sid get him off twice more, in such quick succession that Zhenya marvels at it. For the last round, Zhenya does grab his cock and jerk himself into an orgasm that’s nearly dry. His dick has already leaked all over his abdomen, so Zhenya supposes it doesn’t have much else to give. He reaches weakly down between his trembling thighs when it’s over and bats at Sid’s forearm. “Okay,” Zhenya wheezes. “Done now.”

Sid withdraws carefully, and even so, the absence of him feels strange at first. Zhenya is wrung out, used and used up, and he takes a moment to luxuriate in the sensation. He’s not sure how long he might have stayed there, sprawled out on his back, because Sid jars him out of his reverie with a quiet, “Wow.”

Zhenya pries his eyelids open. Sid is wiping his hand on the sheets and watching Zhenya with something like reverence. Gathering a few brain cells, Zhenya echoes, “Wow.” Then he adds, “We only do this now.”

“You don’t want to do it the regular way anymore, huh?” Sid asks, his voice warm and amused. And smug, again, but Zhenya ignores that.

“No, I mean… _only_ this now. No more hockey, no training, no… golf, whatever boring thing. Just this.”

Sid snorts. “I think there are a few people who would have something to say about that. Like, half the population of Pittsburgh.”

“Don’t care,” Zhenya says, because he really, really doesn’t.

“You might feel different in a couple minutes.” Sid gives his knee a quick squeeze and leans across the bed to grab some hand wipes from the nightstand. Like they’re done and it’s time to clean up, and it occurs to Zhenya that there’s something very wrong with that idea.

“Sid,” he says, flinging out an arm that comes nowhere close to reaching its target. Zhenya lets it flop back down against the mattress. “You should come.” After all, he’d just spent who knows how long coaxing four orgasms out of Zhenya; he should get at least _one_.

“Are you sure there, bud?” Sid asks as he cleans off his hands and tosses the used wipe aside. “You look pretty comfortable.”

The worst part of _that_ lame attempt at chirping is that Zhenya isn’t sure that he does have it in him to get Sid off, or maybe he can but he’s not sure it would be any good. “Your fault,” Zhenya fires back. He gestures vaguely at himself. “You do then. Come on me.”

One of Sid’s eyebrows ticks up. “Yeah?”

He’s already shuffling closer on his knees, so Zhenya knows it’s going to happen. He spreads his legs a little wider. “Yeah.”

Sid’s not as hard as he was before they started, which isn’t much of a surprise. After all, it had taken some time for Sid to work him through four orgasms, so Zhenya can’t be offended that Sid’s only got a semi when he gets his dick out and tucks the waistband of his briefs under his balls. Zhenya watches with great interest as Sid wraps one strong, square hand around his cock. He thinks he’s got a pretty good idea of how he can help this along.

“When we do again, how many times you think, Sid?” he asks, languid but still staring hungrily. “Maybe I do five? Six? You make me?”

“As many as you want,” Sid says, and he sounds gravelly as he works at stroking himself back to full hardness. It doesn’t look like it’s going to take very long, and it doesn’t.

“Go for break record?” Zheyna teases. He stretches out to run his palms down Sid’s thighs, from the stretchy material of his briefs to his warm skin, feeling the thick, tensed muscle underneath it all. “Season high? New career best?”

Sid snorts. “Shut up,” he fires back, but he can’t hide how pleased and pink he looks. Zhenya knows him well enough that he doesn’t think it’s all a result of Sid’s hand stripping over his cock.

“Maybe I give you gold medal,” Zhenya suggests. “Or trophy maybe. Put your name on it every time you get me off.”

“Better be a big trophy,” Sid grits out, “because we are doing that a lot.”

Zhenya knows that might or might not be true. Once they’re within the confines of the regular season, he knows that the circumstances under which Sid will be willing to finger-fuck Zhenya within in inch of his life will dwindle significantly. But this isn’t the time to dwell on that. “We use teeny, tiny letters,” Zhenya offers.

“Yeah,” Sid says, which isn’t so much of a response to what Zhenya said as it is an indication that Sid’s ability to keep up any kind of repartee is fading fast. He’s jerking himself with purpose now, and Zhenya drinks in the sight of it. He knows all of Sid’s tells by now, can see just how very, very close he is.

Zhenya takes that as his cue to hook his hands behind his knees and draw them up, giving Sid an unfettered view of his used hole, still soft and smeared with lube.

Sid greets it with a harsh noise and a curse. “Fuck G,” he grunts, muscles cording as his hand speeds. “Fuck.”

“Do it, Sid,” Geno urges him. “Come on.”

And Sid does, shuddering and groaning and spending himself all over Zhenya’s balls and his taint, and Zhenya can feel the evidence of it dripping down into his crack. He’s a mess, from his belly down to the sheets, and it’s a delicious feeling. He drops his feet back to the mattress as Sid lets go of his softening dick, steadying himself with a hand on Zhenya’s knee. “ _Shit_ , G,” he says, his grip tightening.

Zhenya rolls his eyes and reaches for him with one arm. “Come down here before you fall on me.”

“I’m not going to _fall on you_ ,” Sid grumbles, but he does it while he’s crawling over to Zhenya’s side to collapse onto the mattress.

“Not on me,” Zhenya agrees as they tuck in next to each other. He gives Sid a happy, sloppy kiss, then pokes him in the side. “Maybe you fall for me?”

Sid squirms and catches Zhenya’s wrist, tucking their hands between their bodies instead. He smiles, his eyes locking onto Zhenya’s, and it feels like he’s kindling a fire in Zhenya’s chest. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I did.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time (secretively) writing hockey RPF, so thank you for reading! :)


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